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He stared at the panties in his drawer. White, neatly folded, freshly worn. He felt his loins twitch. His head swam but he knew he could not show emotion. This was a test. He gingerly moved the panties aside, took out his class register, and slid the drawer shut. In front of him, a dozen eighteen-year-old Japanese girls sat behind their desks, each looking directly at their teacher.
“Good morning, class,” he said in English. His voice sounded distant in his own head.
“Good morning, Sensei,” came a desultory ripple of reply.
He tried to concentrate. “We have nearly reached the end of summer school, and shortly I will make your assessments. I don’t have to remind you how important it is for you to do well. Make your parents proud.”
They stared blankly at him. This was in effect a remedial class. These girls had failed end of school examinations and were duly forced to attend extra lessons to cram throughout the few weeks of summer for another shot at making the grade. For him this was just a job, but he knew the future of every one of these girls depended on their achievement at every stage of their education. While career opportunities in Japan were still limited for women, good grades determined their choice of university, which in all likelihood would not launch a career, but would allow them to meet or prepare for their future husband, which was the best that many of them could hope for. In truth, that seemed to be the limit of their ambition. When it came to English lessons none of his students particularly cared to demonstrate ability, and he found teaching an uphill struggle.
Strictly speaking, English was an essential part of the school curriculum, but it was a low priority. It was considered an easy route to a good grade, and he was shocked at the variable standard of achievement; many of these girls had been studying for years yet could not hold a simple conversation. Learning English meant reciting texts, and class time was a chance to switch off, or in some cases catch up on sleep or other schoolwork. Academic tests were beyond his remit and his supervisors seemed uninterested in assessing class progress one way or the other. He had long since abandoned any semblance of actually teaching the girls anything useful, and they had reached a sort of equilibrium where neither troubled the other unduly. He usually gave them a book to read or a simple set task to complete at their own pace, and used the extra time to prepare for his private lessons. They seemed satisfied with the arrangement.
Now this. He set the girls a passage of a romantic novel to read, then thought about the panties in his desk.
They hadn’t been there before lunch, he was certain of that. Neither the room nor his desk were locked, and since this was Japan there was no reason why they should be. Any of the girls could have put them there before he returned, but the question was, why?
He slid the drawer open again and discreetly looked in. He glanced around, but none of the girls showed any interest. He ran a thumb over the panties and opened them out. They bore a label in Japanese, and he was momentarily impressed at the designer name. The cotton gusset had been laid flat inside, facing up. His head swam giddily as he revealed a thin yellowish stain. That was his special weakness.
He quickly looked up, expecting giggles to erupt, but the girls seemed absorbed in their books, or pretended to be. He felt his cock rise as he looked again in the drawer. Could it be that one of these girls had deliberately placed her used panties there knowing it would turn him on? Which one could know his tastes, or was his fetish so widely shared that here in Japan, where even the most outlandish sexual preference was catered to near open extent, one of his class had judged him susceptible to this one and for some reason decided to tease or provoke him?
That was his first dilemma – were the panties placed there to tempt or to taunt?
He looked around the class again. He had no particular interest in any of the girls, though they were all above age of consent and there were undoubtedly lookers amongst them. Sexual dalliance was out of the question. He knew the penalty that hung over any teacher accused of the slightest impropriety with any student, in or out of school, and as a foreigner he was always under scrutiny.
Yet he was a young man with healthy appetites, quite irresistibly drawn casino şirketleri to any Japanese woman of more than passable beauty, and in his short time in Japan he had been unable to escape the universal inference that the very pinnacle of Japanese beauty was the ripening schoolgirl, whether he shared that opinion or not. In one form or another examples of pubescent feminine pulchritude were beamed at him from all sides, in the chaos of advertising on the streets, in magazines and on television, where every other show contained giggling paragons of teenaged temptation. After his initial fascination wore off, he found even the prettiest examples presented in this way to be vacuous and eventually irritating. Even the marketing of instant noodles was reduced to the coy ministrations of a teenage ingenue.
Inevitably, he had been confronted from time to time with quite blatant displays of budding sexuality of some among his students. Girls would sit at the front of the class, sucking on pencils and twirling a lock of hair, swinging a leg and giving him an intoxicating flash of panty. Others would gather round desks to work through some exercise and bend over, offering him a good look at their bare legs and taut bottoms. He tried not to stare but rounds of giggling told him that some of them regarded this display as amusement. Like teenagers everywhere they were discovering their bodies and testing boundaries, and whilst he did nothing to encourage it, with the older ones at least he adopted a neutral position and indulged them a little.
The increasing sexualization of the schoolgirl was a troubling aspect of Japanese society. Where the ubiquitous advertisements hinted at it with varying degrees of subtlety, he could not fail to be aware of the burgeoning porn industry that used the teenage girl as a staple. There was a vast underground catering to tastes even more extreme. He sometimes struggled to maintain professional distance, particularly as much of the schoolgirl porn imagery centered on pristine white panties as its premium draw. That the models (whether professional or amateur) seemed ever cheerful in exhibition of their underwear and their bodies was a troubling dichotomy. The attraction of the schoolgirl and her uniform seemed to go straight to the root of the sexual psyche of the Japanese male.
The better schools required their students to don curiously sexless sailor suits apparently styled after German Navy cadets of the 19th Century; boys in stiff jackets and girls in knee-length navy blue dresses with distinctive striped collar. His was not one of the better schools, and the fashion there as everywhere else it seemed was for girls to wear short plaid skirts and pullovers, with a white blouse, though often with the distinctive sailor collar. ‘Bad girls’ printed their rebellion in thick white socks painstakingly shaped to hang loose up to the knee. He saw gaggles of these girls everywhere about the streets of Tokyo, and with their ever decreasing length of skirt caught flashes of white panty on the streets and in shops, on escalators and on the underground, in parks and cafes, and not infrequently right here in his own classroom, where he fought to turn a blind eye. He often found the girls bland and unattractive, but his lifelong panty fetish was forever bubbling under his forcibly calm exterior.
While it was true to say that he was immune to the dubious charms of younger teens, the girls in his class were all over eighteen. Practically women, but still they acted like little girls when it so suited. When he saw students flash their underwear in his own classroom he maintained a scrupulously professional facade. It was often his conclusion that they did this deliberately, bending down or leaning round, and he was only human after all, but needless to say he never encouraged any overtly sexual display.
Now he had to consider that one of these girls had noticed his attraction, seen through his facade, and placed her panties in his drawer. But which girl? He looked around his class.
It seemed most likely to be Naomi, the bold flirty one. She sat in the front row and often gave him a look up her skirt under her desk, murmuring to her friends in mock indignation when she seemed to catch him looking. A close second would be her friend Fumiko, who shared that same delight in leaning back with her legs ‘accidentally’ apart. He found it useless to try to discipline casino firmaları them in this behavior. Could it be Reiko, silent and sullen? She seemed always to be challenging him. He almost wished it were Azumi, silent and beautiful, or Yuki, cold and aloof, or even sensually plump Ayako. Surely it couldn’t have been Natsuko, plain and studious, or shy Kazume, who seemed to see inside him when he caught her eye? Or little Ame who giggled at every word he spoke, or that sleepy one at the back whose name he could never remember – Kaori or Kaoru – or indeed the others, whose names didn’t matter.
He sighed. None of their names mattered, since he never used them. He had tried, indeed stressed the importance of their use in conversational English, but their constant giggles at each attempt masked unease at such familiarity. He had learned early on not to draw any attention to an individual pupil, or single one out for praise as would be normal in Western society. It not only made that girl uncomfortable, but rendered her a target for resentment or worse from the rest of the group.
The group. The whole of Japanese society was based on the group. The school, the company, the club, the team; one person to his household, the household to the street, to the town, to greater Japan; one Japanese to another in any part of the world; and of course at the heart of it the family, the closest group of all. Japan was the great family, each member with his immovable role, you have your place and you fit into it or fail. They called it ‘tall poppy’ syndrome – the one that sticks up must be cut down, and the worst of it was that the Japanese as a whole seemed content with that. He found it annoying and frustrating in equal parts, but that was their way, and no line had been formed of Japanese asking him to change it.
He had his place too. He was gaijin, an ‘outside person’ marked as a foreigner in everything he did for as long as he lived in Japan, and constantly under suspicion or indulgence because of it. On the other hand, he garnered some little respect simply for being a teacher, and the title ‘sensei’ consequently bestowed on him by everyone from policemen to shop workers (mysteriously, even on first acquaintance) reflected the ease to which every member of society was assigned their role, and seemingly gratefully accepted it. That was why grades were important. Fail in school, fail in life, no second chances.
He was ready and willing to take as his duty the grading of his students based on their individual abilities, but he found it impossible to determine what those might be or even distinguish much between them. There were no volunteers to answer his questions, set work became group tasks, the class acted and answered as one, meaning there were no standouts and the class tended to fall to an average according to their least able member.
Yet someone had stepped boldly out of line. Whatever else it might signify, the placement of the panties in his drawer had been a statement of non-conformity. For the moment it was a secret shared between them, although hardly shared since he did not know the culprit. Or was it a benefactor?
He put the panties out of his mind and carefully composed himself, before rising to draw up a list of exercises for study on the large chalkboard at one side of the room. He then busied himself marking his private student’s work until it was time for class to dismiss.
The girls collected their bags, hung with cute mascots, and filed out in the usual fits of giggles that he learned to ignore. He wiped off the chalkboard in readiness for the next class, and turned to find one of the girls waiting at his desk.
“Ah, Kazume, isn’t it?”
She nodded shyly.
“What can I do for you?”
He knew Kazume as an intelligent girl who seemed to follow his lessons better than most, but he couldn’t guess what she might want to discuss.
“Sensei-sama,” she used the polite honorific, “you have perhaps to assess student grade?”
Directness was not something he had come to expect from any Japanese. Conversations would take endless diversions to triviality before a tricky subject was broached, often by the merest allusion.
“That’s right.”
“Assessment grade to be for individual student.”
“That’s the idea, yes. Clever girl.”
“It is possible perhaps Kazume receive good grade?”
He sat down at his desk. “You güvenilir casino are a good student, you deserve a good grade.”
“How much grade is good, please?”
“‘C’ is good.”
Kazume put her bag down and sat up on his desk. “I think, maybe not so good.”
She swung her leg slowly. He found himself staring as if hypnotized, and a heat rose under his collar. He cleared his throat. “Well, it is a pass.”
“But not perhaps very good a pass.” She swung her leg outwards, causing her skirt to slide a little up her thigh. “I think perhaps Kazume need very good a pass.”
His eyes were glued to her leg swinging at the side of his desk. He tried to stay calm. “I’d say you might merit a ‘B’. That’s a good pass.”
The leg swung rhythmically and the skirt raised a little more. “Sensei consider perhaps Kazume not more than good?”
“Oh, I think you’re very good.”
She gazed directly at him and leaned forward. Her legs were tantalizingly parted.
“Yes. I am very good.”
He could see almost all the way up to the top of her thigh. If she moved sideways he might see further. He snapped himself together and slid his seat back.
“But I can’t raise your grade.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Correct use of the conjunctive, with phrasal comparison, that’s excellent. I can go to ‘B+’.”
“I had very much wanted to be ‘A’.”
“You’ll need to show special ability.”
“Perhaps I show something else?”
This had gone far enough. “Kazume, please restrain yourself. I can take a joke as well as anybody, but I am your teacher and there must be no contact between us.”
“Contact?” The word seemed alien to her.
He gestured to her parted legs. “You seem to be expecting it.”
She giggled. “Sensei, so sorry, I think perhaps not.”
She rolled off the desk and put her hand to his drawer. He panicked briefly, and tried to reach first but she slid it open and snatched out the panties. She held them in triumph.
“My thought is to do something for Sensei, then Sensei to do something for me.”
He was incredulous. “Those are yours?”
“I think perhaps they should be Sensei’s.”
She pouted and smiled. Her eyes went to his crotch. He shifted uneasily.
“Please accept gift. Enjoy gift tonight. Make consideration of grade according to satisfaction.”
She placed the panties in his lap, brushing ever so slightly against him. He was speechless, unable to move. Kazume collected her bag and was gone. He exhaled deeply, picked the panties up, and held them between his fingers, tracing the delicate fabric.
“Yes, you are good, Kazume. Very, very good.”
The following day he was torn with conflicting emotion. He had drawn a bargain but his principles had faced a test.
He knew down inside it made little difference. He was not under assessment and the school placed not the slightest importance on any of his judgments. If a student was particularly promising he might recommend her for extra study, but that would impinge on time allocated to more important subjects. If he marked another student down for even blatant ineptitude he could expect to be summoned to the principal’s office, where a conference of teachers would decide that in the interests of achieving educational objectives it might be better to use a different criterion to the one he had erroneously been using to assess that particular student, particularly in light of other less tangible abilities. Put another way, her parents had complained and his job was at risk. No bad students, only bad teachers. Either way the result was the same; the grade would be marked to an average.
He thought of rebellion, of awarding star grades across the board or failing them all, or turning the class upside-down on ability, but he knew it wouldn’t matter. Some dead hand would later make adjustments. His primary duty was to deliver a satisfactory grade for all. Kazume could not have known that, but he blessed her intentions. His cock twitched again as he recalled his night with the company of her panties. Definitely an ‘A’.
He took a deep breath and entered the classroom briskly. The students sat obediently behind their desks as usual. He couldn’t look directly at Kazume, but felt his cheeks flush as he greeted the class. Her face was just one of twelve that stared blankly back, inscrutable as ever. He gave them their set text to study, then settled behind his desk. He glanced towards Kazume but she had her head innocently bent over her book. The other students were similarly absorbed. He sighed inwardly and reached for his class register.
Inside the drawer, neatly arranged, lay eleven pairs of white panties.
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